The Summoner: (4 page)

“I didn’t expect this from Waterfalls.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I don’t know many Westerners familiar with this part of Harare.”

Grey gave the interior of the Land Rover a pointed glance. “I’m surprised
you
know of it.”

“Be careful of making judgments before you’re in possession of all the facts. It’s shoddy investigation.”

“You made a false assumption, and I didn’t take offense. You shouldn’t be surprised when people draw obvious conclusions.”

Instead of the retort he expected, she fell silent. If she wanted to play rough, Grey could oblige. There was no love lost with him for anyone associated with this regime.

Grey knew a number of Zimbabweans who lived in Waterfalls, most of them young professionals and small business owners. Thus his surprise at the near-squalor of the neighborhood. He had seen the terrible slums on the outskirts of Harare, but if this was where people with solid jobs lived, then Zimbabwe had fallen even further than he’d realized.

Nya stopped in front of one of the less neglected homes, a square cottage with a terra cotta roof and white plaster-coated walls. A low hedge draped with ladyslipper and granadilla surrounded the house.

They walked past a fragrant frangipani tree to the front entrance. An attractive young woman with pronounced dimples, full lips, and slender Masai braids opened the door.

She peered at them under red-rimmed, almond eyes. “Ms. Mashumba?”

Nya’s expression softened. “Thank you for meeting us. This is Dominic Grey, from the American Embassy.”

She extended her hand to Grey. “Tapiwa Chakawa. Please, call me Taps. Come.”

She led them to a small sitting room filled with potted plants. Vines clung to the walls and ceiling, adding to the tropical ambiance. They sat in wicker chairs cushioned in bright floral print.

Taps looked at Grey. “Did—do you know William?” She spoke with a slow and thoughtful rhythm, almost over-enunciating.

“I did not. I understand he was good friends with our Ambassador.”

“He has many friends. He’s a good man, hey? He would never disappear and leave me. Never.” She started to say something else and broke off. Her mouth quivered and a sob escaped her. “I’m sorry.”

Grey touched her shoulder. “We’re here to help you. If you need a bit of time-”

“No,” she said, straightening. “I want to help. What must I tell you?”

“Everything you can about last Saturday night,” Grey said. “Start from the beginning. How long have you been going to these… gatherings?”

“Once or twice.” She crossed herself. “Never again. On Saturday I went with William. He didn’t know I’d been to a Juju ceremony before.”

“He asked you to go?”

She hesitated. “He left my house earlier than usual on Saturday, and I—I followed him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, isn’t it—I just thought his behavior odd. I suppose I’m not much of a spy, because he noticed me and pulled aside. William looked nervous, and,” she bit her lip, “I accused him of seeing someone. He swore no, and I believed him.”

“Go on,” Nya murmured.

“He said he was off to a tribal ceremony, and was supposed to go alone. That was why he didn’t tell me. I guessed it was Juju, and told him I’d been to one before. He looked relieved, and agreed to take me with him. We took my car back and drove together.”

“Do you know where you went?”

“No. William drove. I know we took the Marondera Road, but an hour or so out of Harare we turned onto a dirt road into the bush. We made some turns. I don’t know where we were—I couldn’t find it again. William stopped by an old water tower, and we walked some half a kilometer before we found the ceremony.”

Grey thought two things: she was telling the truth, and she was nervous. Not the kind of nervous he’d seen from people unused to talking to law enforcement. The kind of nervous born of fear.

He asked, “Why don’t you take us through the ceremony from the beginning.”

Taps studied her hands. “I knew from the beginning this one was different. The others were… harmless.” Her eyes shifted to Nya. “You understand, Ms. Mashumba—I’m Catholic. These other things, I was just worshipping in a different way. It was an escape, hey? A diversion.”

Nya didn’t say a word. Grey had met few people as hard to read as she was. Was she skilled at masking her emotions, or just cold?

Taps continued. “People were… doing things. Unnatural things. When we got there everyone was chanting.”

“Chanting what?”

“Just one word,” she said, her voice low. “
N’anga.
They were repeating it over and over.”

Grey looked to Nya. “
N’anga
is a Shona word,” she said. “It translates roughly as one who summons.” Nya leaned in. “Why were they chanting that?”

“There was a man. In the middle of the people, next to a stone altar. I’d heard rumors of a man like this, of a real babalawo come to Zimbabwe. I thought I wanted to see him, but I was wrong. This was not a good man. And those people… they were worshipping him.” She turned her head away. “That wasn’t me.”

Grey touched her arm. “We all do things we regret. Did you get a good look at him? Could you describe him?”

“He was wearing a mask, and West African robes. You’ve seen them, those wide-sleeved flowing-”

“An Agbada,” Nya said.

“His was red. He’s African—I could see that from his hands. The mask and robes concealed the rest. He was tall, though.” She eyed Grey. “Even taller than you.”

“Can you walk us through the ceremony?” Grey asked.

She shuddered. “Mostly I remember blood. I saw him sacrifice a goat, and there had to have been more. Everyone was dancing, dancing crazy. Sometimes the men and women were…” She looked away. “It was unnatural, hey?”

Grey and Nya exchanged a glance. Grey now had an idea why Addison had wanted to go to this ceremony.

“Do you know anything about this man?” Grey asked. “Where he comes from, where he lives?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone that might?”

“People have heard of him. I don’t know anyone else who’s been to one of those.”

“What was Addison doing during all this?”

Taps’s head slid downward, as if she couldn’t hold it up. She closed her eyes.

“Ms. Chakawa?” Nya said. “Anything you say could help us find him.”

“I think he was enjoying it,” she said, not lifting her head to speak. “Not the blood, but the… people having sex.” Her voice trembled. “I could see it on his face. It excited him.”

Grey felt embarrassed for her. He was about to prod her when she continued.

“I asked William to leave, but he wouldn’t, no. He wanted to get closer. He said it was cultural, that we had come for the experience. I said it had nothing to do with my culture. He tried to pull me with him, but I wouldn’t go. He went into the middle of those people and I lost him.”

“That was the last time you saw him?”

She was quiet for a minute. “There was one more time.”

Nya frowned. “That wasn’t in the report.”

“I didn’t see how it helps anything, and it’s… I’m not even sure what I was seeing.”

“Not sure?”

“I wasn’t thinking clear. I think it was the sight of all the blood, and how William was acting. My stomach started to cramp, and I felt ill.”

Grey thought she looked ill right now. “When did you see Mr. Addison again?”

“When I saw him again, he was in the center of the circle. He was alone with that man.”

“The
N’anga
?” Nya said.

“Mm. There was another, smaller circle around William and the altar. It was drawn on the ground, in the dirt.”

“Drawn?”

“Outlined in red paint or,” her voice dropped, “something else. William was acting strange. Disoriented, like he was in a trance. The man started moving his arms about, as if he was drawing things in the air.”

“How close were you?” Nya asked.

“Thirty meters? I really couldn’t say.”

“What then?”

“The chanting started again.”

“For the
N’anga
?”

“They were chanting something different. It wasn’t Shona or English.”

“Can you repeat it for us?”

“It’s been too long, and I didn’t recognize the language. I’m sorry.”

“What happened to William?” Grey said.

She licked her lips. “I wanted to leave, but something made me watch. That man—I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He finished waving his arms, and then held them to the sky. The crowd stopped chanting and got very still.”

“What was William doing?”

“He was beside him, watching. Staring at him like a schoolboy.”

“How did you lose sight of him again?”

Taps grew more and more agitated. Her face balled in frustration, and she looked as if she wanted to hide. “I don’t know what happened next. I know what I think I saw—but I don’t know what really happened, because what I think I saw couldn’t have happened.”

“Please, Ms. Chakawa,” Nya said, “just tell us what you saw. We’ll sort the fact from the fiction.”

Taps took a deep breath. Her words came in slow, deliberate spurts. “Fog rose up inside the circle with William. The fog was like a blanket, but it stayed within the circle. I couldn’t see inside it. I couldn’t see William. Then came the screaming—screaming from inside the fog. William’s screams. And then they stopped. Stopped too suddenly, if you understand me.”

Again Grey thought: this woman at least believes she’s telling the truth.

Taps’s voice was steady now, without inflection, as when someone has spent all emotion and finishes a story in resignation. “At first I just screamed. Then I tried to go to William, but I couldn’t. There were too many people, too close together, and everyone was screaming and convulsing as if they were all possessed.”

Grey glanced at Nya. She was leaning forward with an almost feverish intensity.

“The fog started to dissipate. When it cleared I saw inside the circle again.” Taps walked to a window and faced the street. “No one was there.”

Grey tried not to seem too incredulous. “What do you mean no one was there?”

“Might he have slipped off into the crowd?” Nya asked. “I should think that’s the plausible answer.”

“The first thing I did was look around the crowd—he wasn’t hard to spot, hey? I would’ve seen him. I watched everyone leave, except the ones passed out.”

“What happened to the priest?” Grey asked.

“I don’t know. I was too busy trying to find William to notice when he left.”

“Did you ask anyone else what happened to William?”

“No one would answer me. No one was… in their right mind.”

“You’re sure you didn’t know anyone there?”

“Zim is a large country.”

“But you mentioned you’d been to some of these ceremonies before,” Grey said, “and knew of others who’d been.”

“I told you, this was different. The other ceremonies, they’re pretend Juju.” She shuddered again. “I don’t know how William found out about that one—oh, why did we go!”

“When did you return to the car?”

“As soon as everyone left. I wasn’t spending another second in that place. I waited in the car with the doors locked until I saw light, in case William returned. Then I returned to the site. It looked like no one had been there. I didn’t know what else to do so I left. I got lost on the dirt roads, and came out somewhere on the Marondera Road again. I drove straight to the police.”

Nya’s cell rang. She opened the sleek receiver, had a brief conversation, and shut it. “I have to go.”

Grey put a finger up. “Are you sure you don’t know how William might’ve found out about the ceremony?”

“I asked him on the way and he laughed and said a friend told him. I didn’t ask who. I don’t know his friends.”

Grey contemplated her answer. This was an honest woman, and a traumatized one. He didn’t think pushing her further would get them anywhere, and they could come back if needed. He took her hand in both of his. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He handed her a card. “Please call if you think of anything else. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear something.”

“You better just.”

6

T
hey returned to the car. Nya’s face was grim. “This man, this
N’anga
, is an embarrassment. If the press gets word of the things he’s doing, we’ll be a laughingstock.”

“So that’s why you’re helping. That makes sense.”

“I’m doing my job. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“And helping Addison and Taps.”

“I see. More assumptions on my character?”

“Forget it. There had to be someone else at that ceremony we can talk to, someone who knows more about this priest.”

“The people at that ceremony were
kumusha
—rural. How are you going to find them?”

“I don’t know, go to the villages?”

“That’s not practical. And they wouldn’t talk to you anyway.”

“They’ll talk to you.”

“A Ministry official? I think not.”

“Addison and Taps aren’t villagers,” he said. “They were there. There could be others like them.”

“As I told you last night—no one at that ceremony will want to be found. If you want to help Mr. Addison, don’t waste your time trying to find someone that was present and who may or may not know something.”

“Then that leaves Addison’s connection to the ceremony. Someone told him about it. I’ll look into that angle, and set up a meeting with Professor Radek tonight.”

“There’s someone I’d like to speak with before we meet with the Professor. If you’re free to accompany me, perhaps we could meet at your Embassy at seven?”

“I can make that. Who’re we going to see?”

She fingered the cross at her throat. “Someone who knows Juju.”

• • •

Grey left, and Nya allowed herself a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t her nature to self-congratulate, but she’d played her part well. She had the feeling Grey would find what she needed. He was young, but had a competent air to him, and she recognized a quality in him she knew all too well, because she possessed it herself.

Dominic Grey was a survivor.

Thank God the other one hadn’t taken the lead in the investigation. Nya didn’t think she could stomach working with him. She knew his type—the ones who think their first-world currency, their privileged status as a Westerner, gives them instant ascendancy over the native people. Their dollars or their euros or their yen allow them to enter the best clubs, eat nightly at the most expensive restaurants, partake in as many sordid pleasures as their hearts desire. They become imbued with an innate sense of superiority, as if they’d been entitled to their newfound status all along, but had never been in the right place. And, in the true spirit of the colonialist, their underlying insecurities breed a cruel and callous spirit which keeps their humanity at bay, allowing them to enjoy their stay in their new fiefdom without the annoyance of a conscience.